Fish
by NeoWave6
Summary: James and Greg are dating. Things are well, but the constant need to save lives have both doctors spending less and less time with one another. Wilson has found a solution, if not temporary, to remedy that problem.


Welcome! This is not my first shot at writing, but it is my first attempt to post something I've written while suffering from temporary insomnia. Okay...perhaps my lack of sleep isn't that extreme, but at any rate, I couldn't sleep very well, so I wanted to write something rather than lay in the bed and stare at the ceiling. This story is actually based off a storyline a good friend and I have whipped together. It's fairly complex, and way too much to condense into a small paragraph. For all intents and purposes however, this story takes place while House and Wilson are "attempting to date". Should you want more insight as to why, I'd be happy to elaborate. Or possibly, assemble all my logs into a chapter filled, novel structured read.

I'm interested in reviews (Constructive ones, that is. Don't be mean simply because you're sitting at a computer desk.) from all sources. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. If not, well there's "different strokes for different folks" as they say.

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The world's greatest diagnostician, dating the world's most non-practicing Jewish oncologist; life couldn't get any more perfectly imperfect. What began as a one sided friendship blossomed into something neither man expected, yet both embraced the newly acquired idea of love, affection and romance whole-heartedly. Rumors continued to fly about the two, but those who believed the folklore that House and Wilson _were_ indeed dating, felt as if the relationship was going strong. Two months had passed, and neither of them were ready to swing fists. Before, they were just friends, and could endure each other in degrees. Now, they were a couple who lived together. Neither of them had the option of retreating to their separate homes to get away from the other anymore.

Despite the threat that their work hours could change at any given moment, the two of them had relatively set schedules: Wilson found himself working a ten hour day -- nine if he were lucky -- and taking time off on the weekends, should a lack of patients allow it. House on the other hand, strolled into and out of work at his own discretion. However, as time went on, the two of them saw each other less and less. Their quality time was dwindling; even when they were at home, they would fall into the routine of talking about a patient from work, how much of a bitch Cuddy was for not allowing House to do something extreme or unorthodox, and fall asleep. He decided to correct the problem now, rather than let it grow and mutate into their first argument as a "dating couple". All it took was one bout of exchanging foul words of false assumptions before it elevated into such relationship enders as "Why are you always out so late?", and the infamous "Are you cheating on me?"

The next morning, House woke up to the smell of seafood. Wiping the corners of his eyes and stirring at ten in the morning was nothing new, but being greeted by the smell of something delicious certainly was. After tossing himself out of bed, stepping into shorts and fetching his cane, he wobbled into the living room, bare foot and bare chested, to see Wilson already dressed for work. He sat comfortably on the couch thumbing through a magazine. A plastic bowl with a clear lid sat atop the coffee table nearby, filled with rice, seared salmon, and steamed vegetables. The older man grumbled as he walked into his living room.

"I thought you Jews couldn't eat meat." House said mockingly while raising an eyebrow.

"Does that smell like pork to you? Good morning." said Wilson in his usual calm demeanor after being verbally jabbed by his lover.

"Could be. I've been awake all of five minutes. The rest of senses are back in bed waiting for me. Waiting for you..." House moved towards the back of the couch and swooped down to kiss Wilson on the cheek, only to suffer rejection as the oncologist stood up from his seat, nudging his lips away with his shoulder. "...and we're all just gonna keep on waiting." He rolled his eyes, turned back towards his bedroom, and for one moment, entertained the idea that if he forced himself to go back to sleep, he'd get caught in a Groundhog Day-like time paradox, and be given another chance to change his approach.

"I made this for you. It's your lunch. Should you decide to, oh I don't know...go to _work_, it will be waiting for you." Wilson said aloud.

"I'm allergic to fish." House grumbled as he slowly turned back around to face the other man.

"No, you're not..."

"Yes, I am. Makes my body temperature increase, my nerves get all tingly, and I feel this hard tension, heat and pressure right between my thighs and below my belly button..." House trailed off, dropping his eyes to look down and point at the morning wood twitching against the fabric of his shorts. "Oh, hey there Mr. Willy!" He said with faux surprise.

"And where was all this a few nights ago when I took you to bed?"

"You didn't feed me fish."

Wilson infamously widened his eyes and scoffed before rolling them while shaking his head. Sighing, he grabbed the bowl from the coffee table and walked towards the front door. House called out to him just as he reached the handle, imitating the voice and nuances of Gary Coleman. "Where you goin' with my lunch, Jimmy?"

"To work, where you belong right now."

"But I'll starve!" Whined the older man. "If you can't handle dead patients, I don't think you can handle _that _on your brittle boned conscious!"

"I'll take my chances, but you won't if you meet me in my office for lunch." And Wilson would get that "quality time" he wanted more of.

"If I eat in your office, you're gonna make me walk out with _two_ canes? I'm not _that_ crippled..." House said, now back in his bedroom as he fumbled with the white cap securing those precious pills he popped so often.

"Two canes? Get over yourself, you're not _that_ big..." Wilson's crude, but harsh joke accompanied by the sudden, yet unintentional slam of the door almost made House drop his precious Vicodin onto the floor while he ripped the cap off of the orange lid. He took a moment to recover from the jab to his ego by staring at his reflection in the mirror. He snapped his head back, swallowing the addictive medicine before limping towards his closet.

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Several minutes past noon, Wilson sat in the plush chair of his office, talking to Cuddy who simply wanted an updated report on his latest patient. The Dean of Medicine opened the door to take her leave, only to find herself staring face to face with a casually dressed House. She tried to greet him with her atypical badgering, but the older man pushed his way past her to step into Wilson's office. Lisa attempted to shout in protest, but the poor woman received an oak door slammed in her face. House kept his piercing blue eyes glued to Wilson and locked the door. Immediately, he noticed the Jewish man had cleared a lot of space off of his usually cluttered desk, as if preparing for greater things to come. Truthfully, he was.

"I think I need to remind you how _big_ I am..." House grumbled, while letting himself sound like some flustered teenager who felt his self-worth could be measured in inches.

Wilson reached to his side, and pulled out the lunch he prepared for House, and a second bowl that he made for himself. He then withdrew two pairs of chopsticks with one hand, and gestured to the older man with the other. "Take a seat and stay a while, won't you?"

"Don't you want to see Mr. Willy? He wants to see you, told me so when I first woke up."

Wilson lifted an eyebrow. "What'd be the point? I haven't fed you your fish yet..."

"...Touche', Batman."

House took his chair across from Wilson. They didn't eat their meal in a hurry and lead into satisfying, but quick intimacy. They talked, laughed, and poked fun at themselves and others. Wilson's usually short lunch break nearly went on for two hours before the door to his office opened, and House stepped out. He left not a single shred of evidence on his person that would suggest he had done anything with anybody; he knew from Cameron and Chase's experience just how well he needed to cover his tracks to avoid detection. However, no matter how hard one tries to smooth out the wrinkles in their clothes, or how often they remind themselves that indeed, their fly _is _closed, no one can erase the lingering fragrance of sex, sweat and testosterone that clings to the body without a shower. Not even one of the world's greatest diagnosticians, or a non-practicing Jewish oncologist.

House wandered into his office, not surprised to see his two male subordinates sitting at the table, and the beautiful Cameron scribbling on his white board. Like a bloodhound, Chase narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air as House walked past him. "What...is that smell? You wearing cologne?"

Of course, House's retort was armed and ready. "You bet. "Kama Sutra", by Calvin Klein. Used to use "Desperate"; bathed in it to attract hookers. Now, as you've probably heard, I've got Wilson, so no more hookers. Well...maybe if he stops putting out. Don't think that'll happen anytime soon; you wouldn't guess by looking at him, but he's a real _animal _in the sack. It's always the quiet ones..." The Aussie gulped and mentally cursed himself for opening that can of worms, and just when he began to embrace the odd moment of silence from the crude joke, he shuddered as the older man began to howl at his subordinates, like a wolf taunting a full moon. Foreman forced himself to thumb through the mess of papers and folders spread along the table, trying to stay focused on the patient and not a pair of naked male doctors, while Cameron actually let herself giggle at the thought. Which only made House sneer at her and narrow his eyes...

"Hey!" He shouted, mainly to watch her jump from surprise. "Don't you get any of your cooties on my board, you hear me? What's the latest?" He said as he limped towards his desk.

"New patient. 41 year old line cook at Denny's. Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, tries to stay healthy by working out and watching what she eats. Tries to stay away from chips and sweets, eats everything organic she says. Her husband...made sure to stress just how healthy she was, by telling me how much of a vixen she was in bed." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, hoping that the second mention of sex wouldn't cause her boss to embrace more wolf-like tendencies and howl again.

"A vixen? Hmm. Maybe the old bag could teach me a trick or two." House said with a grin.

"Old bag?" Foreman asked as he tilted his head with intrigue. "You're older than she is."

"What? You want me to say "new bag"? Doesn't have the same zing... Anyway, let's narrow it down, shall we? The Old Bag..." House paused, and looked at Foreman, who in turn rolled his eyes. "...isn't as health conscious as she may want us to think. No woman on this planet is gonna say "no" to chocolate chip cookie dough when they're disquieted. Well, when she's not binging on everything she stays away from, what's the rest of her diet like?"

"For the most part? Fish..." Cameron said.

House could only smirk and look down at his flaming stripe on his cane, one of the many reminders of Wilson. He licked his lips, and took a moment to reflect briefly on the earlier moments spent eating with him...and lying under him while both were atop his desk. "...Touche', Batman."

--end


End file.
